Second Chances
by Sapphires Frost
Summary: He'd been left for dead, not expected to ever make it out of that old warehouse in Tokyo alive... Yet by chance or luck, they found him before he died. Naturally, there are consequences to coming back from the grave. This is Rod's chance to face them down, and overcome them. Eventual Rod Redline/OC
1. Instilled Panic

**A/N: Hello all! **

**So, this is the first thing I'm posting here to ! I hope it is up to standards and I also hope people enjoy reading it. It is part of my commitment by posting it here to have it finished, even if that takes a long time!**

**Warning: This is going to be eventual Rod/OC, with a few other OC's thrown in here and there. But again, I think it is believable. **

**Second Warning: /Spoiler Alert/ for Cars 2. **

**Rod Redline belongs to the fantastic people at Disney.**

**Cadence Wheeler belongs to yours truly.**

Rod had never expected to wake up again. He knew he was going to die in that abandoned warehouse on the underside of that bridge in Tokyo, alone, when everyone else had given up on him. It had been his smart mouth against the world, and unfortunately Rod Redline lost. The moment the electromagnetic pulse had been set at 100% power, he had felt his entire engine block erupt in flames with the most powerful explosion he had ever felt.

Do you know what it feels like to have your insides blown out? Probably not. Not many cars on the face of the planet can say they survived that. It was sheer dumb luck and a lot of work from McMissile, Shiftwell, and the various doctors and nurses that C. R. O. M. E. had scrounged up that ended up saving his life.

The pain was immediate, despite the darkness, the dizzy, sick feeling that boiled his tank and made him want to choke and regurgitate whatever might be left in there to throw up. When was the last time he had drank anything?

Clarity. Not much, but some. Rod couldn't think much more beyond that when he went back under, the pain flaring, forcing a groan from his battered, bruised, and severely—critically—injured body.

The next time he awoke was to something a little more pleasant, but with that came clarity, and with clarity came panic. Sheer. Undeniable. Panic. He fought.

Eyes flew open, the irises behind them wide, a little cross-eyed, and round with fear. He jerked, engine flaring to life with a roar before spluttering with the effort and choking. That was more than he could have ever hoped for.

Two nurses rushed in, one right after the other, small cars, white, and pretty. This should have been ringing alarm bells within Torque's mind. It didn't. He was afraid for his life, and cars did crazy things when under that particular type of stress, especially soldiers who often suffered from PTSD. For heaven's sake, he had been recruited just after the Cold war when things were still sketchy between the US and Russia.

The blue muscle car revved his engine threateningly at the nurses, and it whined unhappily. Like a supercharger, but not quiet. More along the lines of damaged than supercharged. The nurses exchanged fearful glances. It was all the time the American agent needed. He sprang forward like a cat on the prowl, tearing past the first as the second one had time to widen her cute brown eyes and part her lips for a surprised scream. Rod sideswiped her, squeezing past in the doorway from his hospital room (for where else would he be if not in a hospital, surrounded by blank white walls?).

Rod heard the screech of tires behind him as someone else took off after him. He didn't bother checking behind him. His rear view mirrors were both still missing from the fight in the bathroom. Goodness, where those lemons _still_ chasing him? But….

A pause to ram through a pair of doors towards the ramp down the levels of the hospital. He was going far too fast for these tight turns, and felt his sides take a further beating as he skidded around and slammed into the concrete around him as he attempted escape.

But why was he in a hospital?

"Torque! Darn you, STOP RUNNING!" A voice behind him called. The first engine, closer, running high. But it definitely sounded happier than his engine.

A second voice, British accent this time. Not at all any of the lemons. "Redline! Stop! You're going to hurt yourself!"

_That_ made Rod slam on the breaks, and he heard like-wise screeches behind him, working hard to narrowly avoid rear-ending him. Hurt himself? He reversed, whipping back around, and his transmission ground unpleasantly at the action, but it set him nose to nose with the cars chasing him. In that moment, he had never felt more relieved as things just _clicked_.

"Why you felt the need to _run_ of all things while in a hospital!" A white Nissan continued to rant, throwing her hood around in irritation. "I mean, really! It's a hospital! It isn't like you woke up in that dark warehouse again! I-!"

She stopped only because Rod actually _flinched_ at the mention of the warehouse, and both cars were suddenly watching him very intently.

"I'm _fine_. You were ranting at me? Telling me how stupid I am?" He said sarcastically with a characteristic drawl.

"Don't-!" The conclusion to that demand could have been anything. But Rod never did get to hear what it was the Nissan GT-R was going to say because the other occupant of the room chose at that moment to interrupt, forcing Rod to look his way.

"Redline," the British car put in helpfully, with a pleasant tone and a lazy smile. "I think what Ms. Wheeler is attempting to explain is the fact that you should not have been about in the condition you are still in, and that we are concerned for your well-being."

The blue mustang/challenger mix turned to look at the British car. He was blue, as well, though a little lighter than the muscle car, all smooth lines and charming British class. Rod's features twisted into something that was almost unrecognizable, his lips pressed tightly together, windshield lifted, hood tilted a little to the side. He seemed… puzzled, if one could say that about the smart-mouthed car resting there.

"McMissile?" Rod asked, windshield arching up a little higher in surprise when he received the answering nod of affirmation.

Torque closed his eyes, squeezing them shut a long moment as he worked to stuff down all the feelings and exclamations that rose up within him at that one moment—many of which would have to be censored if he spit them out, anyway. He took another five seconds to compose himself before he managed to ask the first, most pressing question.

"The tow truck?" He asked, half afraid to hear he had sent the funny, kind truck to his grizzly death at the tires of the lemons.

"Mater is fine. Safely home in the States, and with his first mission under his timing belt," McMissile responded gently, with a fond grin on his features.

Rod, if it was _at all_ possible (which it might not be), lifted his windshield a little higher in surprise. "The tow truck figured it all out?"

The British spy nodded, still grinning fondly. "Mater saved a lot of cars, but we wouldn't have been able to do it at all without you."

"Aw. You're gonna make me cry," Rod sassed, and he wasn't actually sure why this time. With the lemons, it had been necessary. They all hated each other; all made fun of each other to make themselves feel better. The thought hit him like a bullet train. He'd been spending _way_ too much time around lemons.

McMissile seemed to have taken the jest well enough. The same could not be said for the Nissan. She barged forward with a sharp rev of her engine. "Rod 'Torque' Redline!"

Rod reversed a little to clear the space between them, and he was absolutely certain that had he not already been badly damaged, the Nissan would have wrapped him very harshly on the hood for his comment. His dodge, and current damage, were not enough to save him from a dink to his headlights, and he reversed further, finding his hindquarters wedged firmly against the back wall, cornered. He panicked.

**A/N: So, there is chapter one! I hope it is... interesting, and believable enough... I'm still struggling with the lay-out of everything on . I'm sorry. Next chappy should come very soon.**


	2. A Fighting Chance

**EDIT: Fixed some spelling errors and a duplicate sentence. Sorry for missing that the first few times around!**

**A/N: Second chapter! Woot! This one is a bit shorter than the first, but... eh, I don't really care. It's chapter two!**

**Again, Rod Redline and Finn McMissile belong to Disney.**

**Cadence Wheeler belongs to me. Don't steal.**

**EDIT: I'm super sorry about the lack of a chapter this weekend. School just... didn't allow that to happen. I AM working on a new chapter. I promise. But I am currently swamped with homework and a project for All Hallows Eve (in other words, Halloween, I just think All Hallows Eve is cooler). The chapter is _not_ put on hold. It is simply taking longer. Thank you for your patience! -Sapph**

Finn recognized that look the moment he saw it on Rod's facial features. It was that panicked look of one who suddenly fears for their lives. But Torque had training, and that training was so ingrained into his being that it took over under certain circumstances, like when you suddenly fear for your safety.

It was the British spy's own training that gave him enough time to shove Ms. Wheeler out of the way with a quick rev of his engine before Torque's engine snarled and launched him forward towards the light blue Aston Martin DB5. The attack was weak, considering Redline's still badly injured state. But it was an attack none the less, and the strike of the American agent's hood against his side stung.

Ms. Wheeler had reversed in surprise, springing backwards like a cat from water. Good thing, too. It gave Finn a little more room to handle Rod. The muscle car had reversed, a painful grinding coming from his undercarriage which made Finn want to just _cringe_, and now Rod was tilting towards the opening that the Aston Martin had created by moving the Nissan to the side.

"Rod, please!" Finn called out, throwing himself into reverse to block the out of control muscle car. Another hard hit to his rear end, and it sent both blue cars spinning around wildly. Finn felt himself whip around, back end crashing into the closed door of the hospital room, firmly closing it, his front end still skidding a bit to ram into a counter top. He watched as Rod lost control as he rammed the light blue car, and he skidded sideways to hit the monitoring equipment the Mustang/Challenger had been hooked up to with his side, completely broadsiding it all. There was a heavy crash, the sound of crunching metal, and chaos.

Rod had blacked out shortly after. The strain on his crippled engine—which it was surprising he was evening running at all, with oil constantly leaking into the combustion chambers and everything—and tacking onto that the sheer _pain_ from everything, which was encompassing more than what the painkillers were meant to keep at bay… it made sense the American spy would succumb to his injuries.

He woke some time later; apparently a long time later if the darkness outside the window was anything to judge by. He had been moved, again, so he was resting on the bed, so low his undercarriage was pressed against the soft firmness of the cot. The Nissan was elsewhere, not in the room at least. The Aston Martin, though… he was still in here, resting back a little ways away from Rod, and close to the door, but not enough to seem as though he were blocking an escape.

McMissile seemed to have been dozing, by his reaction of lazily blinking his windshield and turning his hood more towards Rod as the muscle car blinked himself awake, feeling all the various aches and pains in his body increase tenfold as he attempted to shift forward, seeing if he could chance escape. Either McMissile was extremely keen—which Rod would not put past the older British spy—or it was the whining keen of his engine as he attempted to start it up to pull forward out of the hospital room that set Finn on alert to his wakefulness.

"I would not try that," the Aston Martin advised, and the Mustang/Challenger knew he was referring to escaping. "The hospital has not been very happy having you as a guest, and another escape attempt will only get you in more trouble."

Rod did not look convinced.

"Easy now, old chap. You've got to remember; we aren't here to hurt you. I know that you've been through a lot, but I'm not going to threaten you or hurt you," Finn responded gently to the American agent's concern.

Rod continued to look suspicious. But he settled back on his tires after a long moment contemplating his options. He didn't stand a chance against McMissile anyway if he did chance an escape. The car was in MUCH better shape than he was.

"So, if you're a friend, why am I not fixed, yet?" Rod questioned firmly, attempting to _sound_ in control, even if he wasn't in the slightest. Fake it till you make it.

"The operation is a dangerous one. Replacing as much as there is to replace within you. There is a _lot_ of damage, and we needed your permission to continue. The doctors did what they could to get you into working order enough to come out of the coma you fell into. We were all concerned you might not pull through when we found you on that torture device."

Despite Finn's gentle tone and the concern that he evidently took in the slightly younger muscle car, the simple fact that he mentioned Rod's torture sent him in reverse, despite the pain it caused him, fear once more showing in his eyes for the split second it was before he closed them, hiding those light blue-gray eyes from the world, and McMissile's searching, worried look.

"Rod, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—it's alright. You are safe. Those lemons won't hurt you again." Finn tried to pull forward cautiously, ever aware of Torque's high self-defense instincts right now. Rod put a tire out to stop the British car where he sat parked.

"I'm fine. Really. You don't have to baby me. I get it. You have my permission to proceed with the operation. I know it's risky but I can't live like this. I can't work like this and I'm _not_ backing out of the program just because I got a little banged up." The Mustang/Challenger mix seemed firm and unyielding. His tone was sharp, defensive, despite what he would like to think, and he was obviously still troubled. He held himself close, tires wide-spread and defensive. Rod's eyes had snapped open again, but behind the annoyance was still what Finn could identify as fear.

"Are you sure you're-?" But it was no use. Rod plowed right on over the Aston Martin.

"Where's Cadence?" He asked abruptly, his hood turning this way and that as he looked around for the Nissan GT-R.

"She's resting. I told her to take a break and head back to the hotel and I would sit here and wait for you to wake up."

Rod grunted his acknowledgement of the answer and that was that.

"Sorry about... you know, ramming you..." The apology was entirely unexpected, and Finn blinked, turning his hood to look at the American agent, windshield lifted with surprise. Rod's expression turned from embarrassed to annoyed faster than you could say 'Cheerio!'. "Don't look at me like that!" He snapped.

Finn smiled with undue patience that welled up from who-knew-where. That kind of smile almost annoyed Rod. He wished there was something he could say that would get under the old British car's hood. And again, it astounded him how much he had turned into a sour, unpleasant lemon. The thought was unsettling and he disliked it immensely.

"-thing of it."

"What?" Rod blinked, pulling out of his thoughts and looking back at McMissile.

"I said think nothing of it," the Aston Martin repeated with that genial, warm smile of his that was so disarming.

"Uh... thanks..." Rod murmured.

**A/N: SO, what do you all think about this story so far? Please give comments and critique! Thanks!**


	3. No Turning Back Now

**A/N I'm back again! Sorry for my tardiness. Thank you to everyone who has pushed me to get this done! And every one of my reviewers! You guys ROCK!**

**Disclaimer: I don't know much, if anything about cars. I do my research, but if things are off, I'm sorry. It's my fault. Please don't kill me. Also, I don't know anything about medical procedures. I look up what I can on Google, and I've watched a couple of episodes of NY Med, but other than that… yeah. Finally, I don't own Finn McMissile or Rod 'Torque' Redline. They belong to Disney. I do own my character Cadence Wheeler. No steal-y. Also, don't claim my story as your own. That's called copyright violation. And you can and will get into big trouble if you do so.**

**Now, to a more cheery subject! Lol!**

**_Edit: For those of you who might be reading this story and going 'she's botching up Finn's speech!' I'm sorry... I know little about the way the English speak! Though I try my best! If you have any advice, please post a comment! I'm always happy to be expanding my knowledge! :)_  
**

Chapter 3

It wasn't too much longer after Rod made his decision that McMissile left to talk to the doctors and then left Rod in the hospital to make his way to his hotel room to get some rest. The Mustang/Challenger mix was left with his thoughts until the next morning.

Despite the muscle car's exhaustion and pain, he wasn't ready to fall back asleep. There was too much on his mind now that he had enough clarity of thought to fully process what was going on. Rod knew he was very badly injured, and he didn't know how much the doctors were going to be able to do for him. What if the unthinkable happened and he couldn't return to his work as a spy with the FBI? The idea settled poorly with him. There was no way he could ever go back to civilian life. He'd go insane….

These thoughts revolved around and around his mind like a demented merry-go-round, echoing off the pasty white walls of the hospital room.

Eventually, however, the muscle car fell into a light slumber and was not awakened until the door to his hospital room creaked open cautiously—the nurses did not wish a repeat of the incident in which Rod had initially woken up in the hospital! Goodness! One sideswipe was quite enough, thank you _very_ much, even if the car doing the sideswiping happened to be a fairly _attractive_ blue muscle car.

The nurses needn't have been quite so afraid of being sideswiped. Rod, while a slight bit started at the entrance of the two small, white cars, hadn't flipped the way he had the past two times he had woken up.

It felt like his engine block was more congested than the day before, and there were various aches and pains that pinged and warred for his attention. The past few days, hell, the past few _weeks_ had not been easy on his body.

The American agent parted eyelids that felt like they were weighted down with lead ball bearings. He glanced towards the spot the British agent had occupied the night before and saw that McMissile was not there. With a sigh, his attention shifted to the nurses still linger in the doorway as though waiting for him to acknowledge their presence and allow them entrance into his room—which they probably were.

Rod lifted his body off the cot and motioned with his hood that the pretty female nurses enter.

"I don't usually bite," the Mustang/Challenger mix quipped ruefully, sending each a particularly pleasant smile. "Come on in."

The nurses exchanged a glance and decided that gently giggling at the comment to ease their nerves was an ok thing to do.

The nurse with green eyes parted her lips to speak.

"Mr. Redline, we're here to get you ready for your surgery that has been scheduled in a short amount of time. Are you ready?"

Rod pursed his lips but there was little to no hesitance in his response. "I'm ready…"

_No turning back now, Rod. You can't back down._

_Hah!_ He snorted mentally, no trace of the inner dialogue showing on his features. _Like I would... This is my only choice. It's either death on the operating table or a successful engine transplant._

Another mental snort at the absurdity of the situation.

The medicine had to be kicking in right now, because to Rod's more reasonable, sensible, _sane_ side, _he_ even knew he sounded a little deranged.

_Who'd have thought I had more chance going out for the count __**permanently**__ on the operating table than at the tyres of a maniacal super-villain plotting the end of the 'States and the world as we know it?_

Now he knew he really was lucid...

Rod was under for a little over 12 hours as the doctor and nurses removed the irreparable engine block, gutting the entire compartment, and replacing as many components with replacements that had been pre-ordered as was possible without losing the Mustang/Challenger mix—and they almost did lose him a few times.

But the Mustang/Challenger mix was a tough car. He had _not_ come back from the dead just to die on the operation table.

It was sheer determination on the American agent's part, his strong-willed fighting spirit, the intense workouts he always put his body through to keep it in its fittest shape, and the doctor's skill in medicine that helped pull Torque back to the road of the functioning.

**_Pain._** It was the first thing that registered to Rod. Not even the drugs in his system could mask that. _Everything feels so… odd…_

_Brrr… _Cold was the next thing he felt, and immediately he hunkered down on the soft cot under tyre.

_Pain and cold… well, he could be in the warehouse. But, no. That didn't seem correct…._ And that was when his hearing finally phased in, muted first, then slowly clearer.

"His pulse is speeding up."

Rod identified the voice as female immediately, and faintly recognizable, but in his heavily drugged state, not familiar enough to know definitely who it belonged to.

"Is he waking?"

A concerned British accent this time, a little thick, yet smooth as polishing wax. Quite possibly a C.H.R.O.M.E. agent. Ah. That clicked everything into place rapidly.

_I wonder how many times I'm going to have a stupid disconnect between memories and situations? _He thought with some snide, dark sarcasm directed pitilessly towards himself.

"I am," Rod groaned, blinking his eyes open and expected, though failed to find, the room to be bright. Once more, darkness and night had closed in while he had been under. A quick glance at a clock identified the exact time of night—or rather morning.

He hissed unpleasantly, a combination of pain from his engine as it gave a choked gasp at his surprise at the lateness of the hour, and the general time itself. "You both cannot possibly still be here at this hour."

"Neither of us wished to be called upon in the unholy hours of the morning to be informed by the hospital staff you had fled the establishment in a fit of surprise and disappeared as you are won't to do."

It was the white Nissan GT-R.

"Cadence," the Aston Martin DB5 reprimanded the younger agent gently. Finn turned gentler eyes on Rod, who twisted one tyre, feeling a slight bit awkward. "We were simply concerned for a close friend. After all, it is customary for those close to the patient to remain present until he wakes up from surgery."

"What is the result? I mean, obviously I'm not dead, so that part was successful." Another attempt at humour, and it was a little darker still than he used to be. Dang those Lemons...

The slightly older British spy sighed and nodded his hood, accepting that there would be no putting it off until the American agent was feeling better. Rod wanted the results now, cut and dry, without sugar-coating if at all possible. It was just the kind of car Finn had picked up on Rod being.

Redline listened as McMissile launched into and explanation of the expansive length of time he had been under, and the various complications which had arisen as progress was made on his chassis. He then explained the analysis the doctor had exhaustedly given upon finishing with Rod and leaving to let his nurses finish cleaning up and transfer the blue muscle car to his 'own' room.

There had been a lot that had been replaced, but many parts had needed to be salvaged. Without them, his systems had gone into hard shut-down. The results of this were a longer recovery, and a lot more tuning as he recovered to perfectly synch everything together until he was in perfect working order once more and could return to active-duty. Unfortunately… there were some kinks he needed to worth with at the moment—such as the very real possibility of over-heating.

"Joy…" Rod muttered and yawned widely.

McMissile and Ms. Wheeler left shortly afterwards, informing him that his stay within the hospital would be lengthened to another week before he was fit to be moved first to Great Britain where other C.H.R.O.M.E. doctors wished to check on his well-being and then back to the 'States where his agency was calling for his return home for recovery until he was fit once again.

Rod was left to ponder all of this—though briefly before the sedatives kicked in once more and numbed the pain and his mind to the point in which he drifted off into a deep, blissful sleep…

**A/N: Ok. I'm tired. Can I say, it's 11 here, now, and this chapter is only making me more exhausted? Anyway, OH MY GOSH! I wrote the next chapter! Eeeek! You all may kill me now for being so horrendously late. *Raises arms against expected mob***

**Note: None of this has been previewed. I'ma do that in the morning. Let my mind ruminate on it. ;P**


	4. Well This is Awkward

**Yup, I'm dead! You guys have every right to kill me! But! If you want more story, I would strongly advise you ****_don't_****. I have another chapter partially written and I'm going to see if I can get it done before this coming weekend. Finals are coming, and I have a paper I need to write that I haven't started yet, but I'm working, slowly but surely, on this.**

**As usual, Rod doesn't belong to me. I do own Cadence and a certain RAD...**

"You three comfortable back there?" Sidley's voice came through clearly from the speakers within the interior of the spy jet.

"Doing quite well, thank you, Sid," Finn responded pleasantly, glancing over at the two American agents as he spoke.

"Uh huh," Rod responded simply with a nod of his hood.

Cadence didn't bother looking up from the files she was looking over on the holoscreen she had projected before her as she responded. "Yes, thank you," she responded briskly, with a little bit of edge to her words that told them basically to leave her alone.

Rod didn't need further convincing. The Nissan had been like this all morning. She was focused and on the track of something or another she'd probably been assigned by the Agency to do.

He huffed, pursing his lips together, hood arching down in a light frown. He wanted to be of some help, but Cadence had situated herself so as to purposefully put McMissile between Rod and her. She was probably under orders not to let him work himself at all.

The Mustang/Challenger mix had tried once already to get her to show him what she was working on. Rod could still feel the sting of the dent Cadence had given his front right fender at his prompting.

…

_"You fool. You're barely a week out of surgery and you want to pull yourself into another mission?! Do you have a death-wish or something?!"_ She had hollered at him with such harshness, briskly accompanied by the stinging strike. Rod's engine had revved as his anger rose above concerns such as his condition, the roar brief, however, before he coughed, engine dying for one heart-wrenching moment.

The silence that had pervaded the space of the private waiting room they had acquired at the airport had been oppressive until, with a hack and an unpleasant grinding of gears and mechanical equipment, the dark blue muscle car's engine petered back into action.

…

Finn wished for Mater's company, or at the very least Holley's. Rod had sunk into a depressing mood since Cadence had given him a rather sudden jolt back into reality. She was so coarse. It couldn't be good for the muscle car, who'd already been through such harshness as was unthinkable. Perhaps sometime during his recovery the Aston Martin could get a meeting organized between the tow truck and the Mustang/Challenger.

"Well," the British spy began awkwardly. "Rod, I think you'll find London a most agreeable place. We'll get you and Miss Wheeler safely to HQ, and have our doctors give you a check-up, and then perhaps we might drive around town, if you feel up to it. There's a little shop downtown where they sell the most exquisite gas. Much better than the stuff I imagine you were getting at the hospital. Never a good mixture."

"Sounds fine. And yeah, hospitals always have the worst-tasting gas. It's even worse than McMotor's, and that's fast-food," Rod responded, tone brisk, windshield lifted a little. Obviously he hadn't expected conversation from Finn and had been surprised (could the Aston Martin hope the Mustang mix had been pleasantly surprised…?).

"Then we have something pleasant to look forward to."

"I suppose so…"

…

It was an absolutely terrible place for a tight-security, low-key government organization's headquarters. A _bank_, really? Just _how_ obvious could C.H.R.O.M.E get? And it had the perfect stake-out location at its front doors! Just across the street was a quaint little café where cars could park out in the sun on the cobble-stones or inside where a fire crackled and snapped, happily keeping the morning chill at bay.

The light blue RAD Nebo casually sipped at his drink as he watched a small collection of cars pull up to the 'bank' and motor in. A couple of American cars and a classy Aston Martin with the license plate 314 FMCM. He immediately recognized the Aston Martin.

The British agent didn't even notice the Russian auto sitting there across the way, much less either of the Americans! The RAD scoffed inwardly at their obliviousness, allowing a devious smirk slide across his sharp features.

…

"Can I get you both anything? Oil? Gas?" The polite, though a little distant slate gray Jaguar asked after Rod, Cadence, and Finn had all pulled into his office. It was a large room, with an old walnut desk brightly polished placed in the back before a window over-looking the street below. The Union Jack could be seen flying just outside, flapping elegantly in the brisk morning breeze.

The rest of the office was fairly usual. Matching book cases lined both sides of the office, walnut to match the desk, and a pair of rather plain, unimpressive paintings had been placed as though an after-thought at a sorry attempt to brighten up the place. The office reflected its owner, initially pleasant, but more drab and emotionless the closer you looked.

"Some oil, perhaps," Rod relented, simply to be polite.

Cadence shook her hood. "None for me, thank you." She was in a better mood since the plane ride. The Mustang mix had to wonder why. Maybe she just didn't like flying? He wouldn't know. Never had he been partnered with the Nissan before, and he hoped he never would be again…

"Cream? Sugar?" The Jaguar asked Rod, pulling him from his thoughts. The muscle car blinked a little bit, feeling a smidge stupid.

"3 scoops sugar, if you would," Rod directed after having sat there on his tires like an idiot to process the words and pull a suitable answer from his mind.

"Of course," the British car nodded his hood, and relayed the request via comm. system to his assistant in the front room. For a moment, the Jaguar E-type observed both American agents, studying them through pale green eyes. Then he blinked, and smiled, nodding his hood to both the Mustang mix and the Nissan. There was something strangely forced about the smile, as though the expression belonged to someone else, and the Jaguar had stolen it and plastered the expression over his usually dull features. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Torque. MI6 has heard a lot about you, and we are incredibly grateful to have such close friends in the CIA. I am Mr. White."

The blue muscle car wished now he had less to explain than he did. He would much rather spend the afternoon casually chatting with McMissile than this White. He supposed, however, it was necessary. C.H.R.O.M.E. had saved his life, and he owed them something for that. An explanation of the entire situation was trivial in comparison, even if it was in the presence of such a strange, unpleasant car.

"Pleasure to meet you, White," Rod grudgingly responded with a nod of his hood to the older British car.

Cadence was silent, observing the two's interaction with McMissile.

It was then that White's assistant rolled in, a pleasant green mini-cooper with the Union Jack on her roof, and set Rod's oil before him, backing out quietly. Silence enveloped the room and Rod took the chance to awkwardly take a sip of the oil. It was certainly 20 times better than what he'd been drinking at the hospital, and the oil platform didn't have the greatest tasting oil, either. Zundapp didn't care to pay for his workers to be especially pampered. In his mind, it had been good enough for them to have a job.

White broke the silence. "Rod," he tried for a casual tone and a smile, and it looked like he had just tasted something sour. The muscle car disliked White trying to informally use his first name, when the Jag E-type hadn't bothered providing his own. "If you would be so kind as to provide the details of your mission up to the point where you were captured it would help us complete the case of the Lemon heist."

The way White phrased it all just seemed so… the word was hard to place. Impersonal, perhaps, with hints of snobbishness in his tone that made Rod feel embarrassed. He was one of the best agents the CIA had, and he'd been captured and nearly killed and the Brits had to save him!

"We caught wind of a recently discovered new source of oil from a source in the black market. . ."


	5. An Explosive Meeting

Rod could not thank Finn enough right about now. The C.H.R.O.M.E. spy had been amazing enough to rescue him from White immediately after the blue muscle car had completed his explanation of the entire lemon situation, including what he could remember of the long torture and the subsequent questioning. Explaining was about as torturous as the actual event itself, and he thought he might have rather died than discuss further mission details with the head director for the British agency.

"You are freaking amazing." The Challenger mix and the Aston Martin both rolled into the lift, shifting to the sides as Cadence rolled her eyes, following after to situate herself behind the two male spy cars.

McMissile chuckled softly, casting a side-ways look at the American agent. "You are most welcome, old chap. I know how you feel, sometimes. White is not the easiest car to get along with."

"You can say that again. What is his deal, anyway?" Rod could detect the small amount of gentleness the muscle car had come to find McMissile used when speaking of or two friends. What the Challenger mix could not for the life of him understand was how any car could enjoy the snub-nosed, stuck-up Jag.

Cadence rolled her eyes once more, shaking her hood in mild frustration. Rod Redline was, admittedly, a busy agent. If he wasn't on a mission, then he was preparing for one, in the hospital, or eating and/or sleeping. He never attended any kind of social event for the CIA—not because he wasn't a social car, he could most certainly turn on the charm when he wanted to. The dark blue muscle car focused solely on the protection and well-being of his country at any personal cost. It made him the best field agent they had and the absolute worst when it came to diplomatic discussions between other agencies.

"White is a complicated car. I've known him since he took the position as the head of the agency. Before that, he was an agent, but his family died in particularly horrible attack by an enemy agent. The Board of Directors decided he would be removed from work in the field. White wasn't really the same after that." McMissile spoke in a way that caught Rod's attention further—filled with sorrow and a faded regret. Finn must have at least invested some amount of effort into a friendship with the distant, unpleasant Jaguar.

The elevator jolted to a halt, the doors sliding open with a gentle hiss. They were no on the other side of the 'bank's' front desk, protected with bullet-proof glass. Silver coloured granite flooring lay out expansively before them, the tiles tilted and styled to a pleasing pattern, all the way out past the security gate and out into the atrium up to the petite sets of double-doors. Security cameras caught every inch of the entire room, the information transferred deeper within the building to the security level, where analysts were always watching agents coming in and out. Currently, the atrium was empty aside from the bank's 'teller's waiting at the desks.

"That's—" Rod halted before he could say more, hood immediately pulling down in a frown. Something didn't feel right. Something was… off. What was it?

That was when a large cylinder pierced one of the front windows of the building, arching downwards to hit the floor and bounce a few paces before it rolled to a stop in the middle of the room. The three spies had reacted the second they'd heard the window break and seen the flash of silver. McMissile was the first (by barely a quarter of a second faster than Rod), hood narrowing in focus as he jerked his hood towards the front of the great room.

Rod, touchier than McMissile, flicked the 1911 pistol out of his hub-cap, and would have turned towards the doors… had his engine not choked, forcing him to gasp out as pain coursed through his engine compartment, and he fell silent for an agonizing second before his engine kicked back into life, forcing another choke out of the America agent.

Cadence was all business, turning to eye the silver cylinder more nonchalantly—she had initially tensed, her frame going rigid as she prepared for an attack or something of the like. Her gaze flickered between the front of the building and Rod, who was struggling to recover.

There was little time for any other reaction. The little device gave one beep, blinking red before it exploded—sending showers of fire and explosive heat and concussive force blasting through the entire atrium!

If the three spies had continued on their way instead of pausing just outside the elevator, it was likely they would have been caught up in the fiery blast and scorched. As it was, the concussive force knocked all three agents back, slamming against one another and knocked back against the still-open elevator doorway. Cadence hit the back of the lift sharply, leaving her in a daze. McMissile was thrown with equal force, spun about and knocked back to strike the doorway into the lift. The British agent was left reeling, his left side horribly dented and scraped. Surprisingly, the muscle car was the least injured—at least from the fiery blast. He'd heard the beep and immediately applied the brakes, expecting the explosion. It had sent him skidding several paces back, but not slamming him about as it had the others. Upon opening his eyes, he saw the immediate damage.

Fire blazed across the entire room, on the once-elegant curtains and rugs that had previously been placed throughout the great room. The wood panels lining the lower-half of the walls was crackling in places as the fire licked hungrily against the stain, the wall above was cracked and crumbling from the force of the explosion. The entire front group of desks where the 'tellers' had been had taken the full brunt of the blast, sending the desks shattering, throwing huge sheets of bullet-proof glass across the back wall.

Smoke mixed with dust and grit filled the air, leaving Rod to cough heavily a moment before his engine could turn-over properly.

By the time the American agent could breathe properly and looked back at the blaze across the room, he spotted movement out front, the windows having been blown out, the doors unhinged and thrown clear across to the other side of the street, splintered fragments littering the street beyond the torrential blaze as it quickly escalated in intensity. A light blue RAD Nebo prowled into the entrance, armored tyres passing over broken glass and bits of desk and wall, weaving between flaming bits. There was a glint in the RAD's eyes that was more than the reflection of the raging flames around them, and a smile like a vampire….

…

**A/N: This is all I got for you folks, now. Sorry. More to come later, after I've looked back over this chapter and corrected all the horrendous grammar errors. I'm sorry for not posting sooner. I lost my drive, and then couldn't kick myself into writing again. As it is, I have no idea how I managed to spit this chapter out. Probably because I had the general idea of how it went, I just had to work out specifics…. Anyway! Cliffhanger! Because I'm evil! Muhahaha! As usual, Rod and Finn belong to Disney. Cadence and the RAD belong to me. Until next time, folks!**


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